First, Last, Forever
by Ly Merrick
Summary: Rachel is living with Finn, that is until he finds out that he wasn't Rachel's first. The last person she expects to find refuge with is the first person she gave herself to.


Pairing: Rachel/Santana

Synopsis: A prompt from thecompasspointstoyou in which Rachel and Finn are living together…until Finn finds out that he wasn't Rachel's "first." New York is freezing in winter, and it's a bad time to get kicked out. Fate brings Rachel back together with Santana, but leaves the hard work to her.

A/N: So, I'm not sure how long this is going to be, but I wanted to get to this prompt while I'm hopped up on double-brewed coffee. (so I can do a little recreational writing!) No lyrics, just quotes. I'm starting in media res but there will be backstory. Enjoy the ride!

I. A Million Lonely Aisles

Rachel felt Finn shift on the couch next to her. He was sipping beer from the neck of a Heineken bottle, and laughing to himself. She wasn't sure about what — he'd been rambling for the better part of an hour, the way he did when he was drunk.

She'd spent too many hours like this. Her feet were sore from long hours of work (school was still expensive) and the days when Finn would rub her feet were long gone. Finn would be drunk by the time she got home, and they'd spend the night on the couch, Rachel feeling mostly like an empty shell.

"—favorite thing about it?"

Rachel tuned in too late, "What?"

"Your first time. What was your favorite thing about it?"

Maybe she was feeling forgetful, or maybe she wasn't thinking, but she heard herself speak words that she really shouldn't have. "The way her hair smelled." It didn't hit her that she'd even said that, at least until she saw Finn's crestfallen, confused expression.

"What?"

"I meant — I meant yours, … that's what I meant, I don't know why —" she was fumbling over every syllable in such an obvious way that she started waving her hands a little in apology.

"You said her. You… what does that even mean?" The hard tap of his Heineken as he sat it down on the coffee table made Rachel jump a little.

"No… no, I didn't I … I didn't mean —"

Finn's confusion melted into a subtle anger.

"It was just… it was… girls sometimes do … things when they don't…—"

"Rachel, what in the fuck are you talking about?"

She flinched as Finn stood, towering over her, arms fixed tight at his sides.

"Was I not your first?"

Rachel couldn't speak, not really. She knew she should definitely say something, try and make up an excuse, but the words just wouldn't come. She was afraid of Finn's reaction. She hadn't even thought of her first time recently, not really. She had the occasional dream or flashback when Finn was rutting on top of her, imagining that he was her.

He was very obviously not her. Rachel's lack of response caused Finn to lash a hand out, grasp Rachel's wrist hard enough to make her hiss in pain.

"Ow, Finn," her fingers grasped at his but he was hopelessly stronger. "You're _hurting_ me."

"Get…get out. Get your shit and get out."

"You can't be serious, it's only 20 degrees outside!"

Finn dragged Rachel by the wrist, shoved her into the bedroom, and toward the closet. "You have 20 minutes. You've been lying to me for five years, Rachel."

It was hard not to cry. She was so shocked by his sudden rage that she couldn't really think anything through. He slammed the door to the bedroom, and a picture fell off the wall directly after. Rachel felt afraid for herself. Her wrist hurt.

Where was she going to go? She couldn't even begin to reason out why she'd replied to his question the way she did, given away such a precious, sacred secret.

He was slamming things in the kitchen, and Rachel found herself shaking as she pulled her suitcase out and threw what she could in there. It wasn't until he was shoving her into a cold New York winter night that she realized she had somehow, within a matter of a half an hour or less, gotten herself broken up with and kicked out.

She pulled her hat a little lower, tucked her hair in front of her ears for a little more warmth, and started walking. Rachel knew of only one relatively safe place in the area that was still open at this hour; it was some small diner that she sometimes went to after work. She went often enough that the owner knew her, but never often enough to see the same customers twice.

Rachel shuffled as well as she could in the cold, dragging her suitcase over drifts of snow and ice, and pushed the diner door open. As she sat, she was served a cup of coffee by the owner, and felt a rush of relief when no questions were posed about the suitcase.

"Want a menu, kid?"

To buy herself some loitering time while she figured out where the hell she could go, she nodded. A menu was placed on the table moments later, and she was hunched over her phone. She'd tried texting Kurt but he was on vacation in Cabo, and either lacked a cell phone signal or was just not available. She didn't know where she kept his spare key to his loft, but regardless, he lived Manhattan and she lived … not in Manhattan. It was far enough that she knew she didn't want to stand out in the cold and wait for a taxi.

"Dude, the mere fact that you think you're right about what the fuck you said to her shows exactly what kind of douchebag you are." A startlingly familiar voice broke the relative silence of clinking silverware.

"Can it, Lopez, it's not like you're any better," a deep baritone voice responded.

Rachel furrowed her brow in distinct confusion. When she turned her head around she wasn't expecting what — or rather who — she saw. The cause of her getting kicked out, really. Or — no, she couldn't blame anyone but herself. Rachel tucked her chin to her chest and covered the side of her face, her immediate instincts telling her to hide. Don't let her see you.

The familiar woman was in the company of several guys, and the way she moved and strode with them seemed to exude confidence and masculinity. Her hair, as Rachel had remembered, still managed to look long and luxurious. Rachel peered through her bangs, saw that familiar smirk.

"Holy fuck is that — "

Just as Santana caught her eye, Rachel gave a nervous laugh before getting out of her seat. She was out on the street and shivering in the cold moments later.

"Berry," Santana's breath looked like a pillar of smoke in the freezing air, and Rachel didn't turn around until she felt a grip on her arm. "I mean, it's problematic that you just ran the fuck out upon seeing my face — which we both know is fucking beautiful — but my spider senses are tingling."

"You live here?"

"Yeah, uptown."

"I just — " had no excuse. No excuse. She faltered and found herself at a loss for words. "I was just there to — "

"You're such a shitty liar."

"Sorry."

Santana moved forward as if she wanted to embrace Rachel in the cold, but must have settled for balling her fists up in her pockets. "So what's going on, dude? It's been forever."

She sort of wanted to cry, because she had nowhere to go and no way to explain. Emotion swelled in her throat and she shook her head.

"Are — are you okay?"

"No."

"Lumberjack do some shit, you want me to do something to him?"

"Finn kicked me out."

"What?"

"He kicked me out," Rachel repeated, louder, clearly uncomfortable as she shifted in place and averted her eyes. "He found out something he wasn't happy about and now I have nowhere to go." This all came out sounding a little angry, but there was no venom in her tone.

"That fucker — I should fuckin' — Why did he kick you out?"

"I really don't — "

"Come on," Santana interrupted calmly, wrapping an arm around Rachel's shoulder.

"Santana!" Behind her, jeering voices started to give Santana shit for apparently ditching whatever plans they may have had.

"Shut the fuck up, Hot Dog! I'll call you later. I got shit to take care of." A moment later, a warm, insistent hand pressed at Rachel's forearm, squeezing and tugging gently as if to get something from Rachel's pocket that she was holding. "Give me your phone."

Rachel didn't think to ask why, because she figured maybe Santana was just going to put her number in there for future reference in case Rachel couldn't figure anything out, but when she saw the brunette lifting the phone to her ear she almost grabbed the phone back.

"_Rach, you're not fucking coming back, so don't even try to —"_

"Excuse the fuck out of you but even if I were Rachel you don't need to speak to a woman like that, do you hear me? You disrespectful piece of shit. It's fucking cold and you're gonna kick someone out?"

_"Who the fuck is this?"_

"Who do you think, you immature sandbag? Do you know anyone else that sounds like I do?

_"You've gotta be shitting me. Of course it's you. Why wouldn't it be? First I find out you've fucked her and now you're calling me from her phone. Tell you what, tell Rachel I want her shit out tomorrow and you two can make a happy ending." _

Santana's confused and angry expression didn't fade when the phone call was quite abruptly ended. "What is he —"

"He found out that he wasn't my first," Rachel flushed with shame and embarrassment. "Can I have my phone please?"

Santana wordlessly handed it back, eyes lingering on the shorter girl. "Well fuck," she mumbled before handing Rachel her scarf. "Come on, if you weren't going back to my place you are now. It's the least I owe you."


End file.
